


Snow Scout Hospitality

by mystery_notebook



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Talking, also henchperson is cute, and that's fine, felt like that was important to mention, i don't know why i wrote this and i don't know if anybody's gonna read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 09:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19664524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_notebook/pseuds/mystery_notebook
Summary: The troupe meets up with another morally gray character on their way down the mountain. The henchperson talks about their name."They've never given me a name. I've been around since SHOW ONE and I STILL don't have a name!"





	Snow Scout Hospitality

The scene in the cave looked like something out of a Renaissance painting. Scoutmaster Brucie, asleep, suitcases of her former wards pried open and contents scattered around her like offerings before a queen. If any observers had been there a few hours earlier they would have witnessed a woman mad with freedom-- yanking designer long underwear and thousand-dollar snow boots from suitcases and laughing at the extravagance, picking out and pocketing up compasses and army knives and sentimental baubles that the less wilderness-minded of the scouts brought to remind them of home. Among them were a pair of very expensive ski goggles, perched across her forehead, the fuzziest and warmest wool socks she had ever worn, a silver locket containing pictures of two parents, neither of which were hers, and several warm blankets-- none of which smelled like nail polish. 

The henchpeople's hike through the Mortmain Mountains had been as cold as it was silent, each stuck in their own thoughts and not very keen on sharing. They were all cold, and they were all miserable, but they had all been accustomed to that for the past few days. It wasn't until one of them found a signpost, pointing towards a cave campsite, that anyone suggested stopping for a while-- and when they did stop, the scene of Scoutmaster Brucie asleep in the viscera of her scouts' suitcases was one of the last things they expected to see.

They didn't expect food to be here either, but here it was. Though the mystery woman hadn't opened them yet, the supplies for the false spring celebration were as fresh as ever-- hot dogs and buns and hot cocoa mix and some snacks and sweets as well. Suddenly, in unison, the troupe began to realize how cold, how hungry, and how tired they were. The henchperson of indeterminate gender bent over to pick up a bag of marshmallows, gently tore it open, and popped a couple into their mouth. 

The largest and baldest of them spoke up softly. "Hey now. Those aren't ours." 

They only chewed in response, and one of the white-faced women spoke up in their stead. 

"Oh, please," began one.

"I doubt they're _hers_ either," continued the other. 

"And just because we won't throw a baby off a cliff--"

"--doesn't mean we have to pass up free food and a warm fire in a snowstorm."

"I vote we stay a while." 

"I vote we stay too." 

It struck both of their companions that they hadn't voted on anything in a long, long time and it might be nice to do so. The larger one went first. "Alright. I vote we make hot dogs." 

"And s'mores," the other barely managed to pronounce through marshmallows.

And so, for the first time in a long time, a decision was made without Olaf being a part of it.

\---

Brucie drifted awake about thirty minutes later, after a particularly inconsiderate hot dog decided to explode over the fire. She tossed in her blankets, intending to go back to sleep, before realizing that the sounds in the background sounded an awful lot like.... two old ladies… arguing?

"...Not even my fault! You built the fire too hot. She didn't even hear it." 

"Oh, please, the whole mountainside heard it. Didn't you ever learn to cook over a campfire?"

"You know darn well that neither of us did!"

"Well, sure, but that's no excuse." 

Brucie shifted upwards in a panic, blinking her eyes and trying to make sense of the shapes in the firelight. Two white-haired women seemed to be the source of the commotion, with a large bald man and person of indeterminate gender looking on. Still half-asleep, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find and brandished it in self-defense. 

"Stop! Thief! In the name of the Snow Scouts! Stranger danger! That's.... That's my purse, I don't know you!"

The object nearest to her happened to be a hairbrush, which as far as weapons go was not the most effective but also not the least effective. Moreso than, say, a pillow or a swim noodle, but far less so than a bat or even a ski pole. Either way, it was enough to make the party around the campfire break the awkward silence with a snicker and then a collective fit of laughter.

"Good morning, Snow Scout!" said the bald man. "Please, join us for breakfast." 

\--

"...Brucie," the scout leader said cautiously. "you can call me Brucie." 

One of the white-faced women sitting around the fire with her smirked. "that's an interesting name." 

"Oh, like yours was any better," her sister replied.

The person of indeterminate gender shrugged. "I like it. Is it short for something?" 

"Oh, uh... Bruscilla," replied Brucie. "my mother wanted to name me after my late uncle Bruce, and that was the closest thing to a girl's name she could manage." 

"Well, the notion of intrinsically male and female names is a bit outdated in itself. I think Bruce would have fit you fine." 

Brucie smiled. "I kinda think so too. Thanks, I guess." She sat back in her seat, a folded sleeping bag keeping her warm against the cold rocks below. "You, uh, didn't really introduce yourself with the others. Do you mind if I… ask what your name is?" 

Her conversational partner immediately went red in the face, though it was hard to tell in the firelight. Brucie almost immediately regretted asking. About three seconds of silence of passed before the white-faced ladies decided (in unison) to answer in their stead.

"I always thought his name was Orlando!"

"Her name is Lucafont. Petunia Lucafont, i'm sure of it!" 

Their clashing responses only made their genderweird peer even quieter, bringing their coat up around them as far as it could go.

"... _They_ ," said the bald man after a bit more awkward silence, "are still trying to decide. At least they were the last time I asked." 

"Ah," said the women in the group together. 

Brucie decided to stifle the awkward feeling in her chest with another marshmallow, spearing one on her nearby stick and concentrating on toasting it properly. "That was probably weird. I'm sorry I asked." 

"It's alright." they replied. "Most people have one already."

  
"I mean... do you not?"

The henchperson shrugged, nervously twirling a lock of their hair. "I don't know. I guess I have one too, but it's the one my folks gave me and I don't like it very much. Like you and Bruscilla." 

"Well," the scoutmaster replied after thinking a bit, "I suppose you could always pick out a new one."

The white-face women, of course, interjected.

"Like Orlando!" 

"Or Petunia Lucafont!" 

Their accomplice smiled, equal parts embarassed and appreciative.

"I've thought about it a lot. Um.... yeah, Orlando, or Rory, or maybe Ainsley or something fancy like that. I guess I just know that I really, really, uh.... Never want to be called my old name, ever again." 

Brucie thought for a bit. "Gotcha. Well, then I don't want to know it." 

"Thanks," they replied quietly. "You know, honestly I kind of.... Hoped maybe the rest of the troupe would... I don't know, give me a nickname and that maybe it would stick. And THAT could be my name. But that hasn't really happened yet." 

The bald man laughed sympathetically, short and precise. "I guess at this point it's not going to."

The henchperson let out an exhausted sigh. "Yeah. I think that's fine, though, actually. The troupe and Count Olaf and everything... you know, he was cool with a lot of stuff but his consistent and unrepentant disregard for the overall wellbeing of others ended up coming across as somewhat problematic." 

The dry way he said it made his bald companion laugh again, and this time the white-faced women and Brucie joined in as well. It wasn't ideal, this little campout in these miserable mountains, but the fire was warm and the hot dogs were good (as good as hot dogs could be) and everyone seemed genuinely relieved to be away from the rest of the world for a while.

"So…. I'll take a wild guess and say that this Count guy is why you all are stranded here in the mountains." 

The members of the acting troupe all nodded, making vague noises of agreement. 

"Well. Whatever you guys did, it can't be much stranger than being mutinied by a group of rich twelve year olds." Brucie paused, staring into the fire at her marshmallow. "Oh my god, the scouts. They're probably fly food by now." she slumped down and buried her face in her hand. "I am an awful scout leader." 

While neither of them had too much context for that statement, Brucie certainly didn't have much for any of theirs, and that was fine for right now. Her new friend of indeterminate gender and name held their s'more in a toast. "Welcome to the siblinghood of grey morality, I suppose." 

Brucie's marshmallow caught on fire, at which she jumped and blew it out in a panic. The smoke that from it mixed in the air with the smoke from the fire, its surface reduced to charcoal. Her newfound companions snickered, and she swore a secret Snow Scout swear under her breath. 

One of the white-faced women spoke up again, this time more to the whole room rather than to somebody in particular. "I guess it has to be asked, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose we ought to," her sister replied. They rested their chins on their hands and spoke again, more or less in unison.

"What do we do now?"

After a moment of silence, Brucie responded by eating her blackened marshmallow in one big bite, crispy outside mixing with melty inside. When she spoke, the others could barely hear her through the goop. "We'll figure something out."

  
  



End file.
